by Diane Kelly
“Good work. I’ll throw on some clothes and meet you at the fire station.”
We ended the call and I continued on, Brigit walking by my side now. As my partner and I retraced our steps, I made a mental note of each building along the way that had outside security cameras. Dental office? Yes. Barbershop? No. Dialysis clinic? Yes. Hopefully one of the cameras had picked up the vehicle driven by the man who’d dropped off the baby, snagged his license plate number. He has some explaining to do.
As Brigit and I cut through a dark alley behind a deli, I pulled my flashlight from my belt and clicked it on, shining the beam around the eaves and looking for a camera. As we walked past a Dumpster, Brigit stopped next to it and went stiff, her nose and one paw raised. I knew that telltale pose. Something is here. Was the man hiding behind the garbage bin?
I signaled for Brigit to follow me backward a few steps for safety and addressed the Dumpster. “Sir? You back there? Come on out and let’s talk.”
There was no sound for a few seconds until Brigit began to whine, her body quivering in anticipation. Yep. Definitely something back there.
“Sir?” I said again. “Come on out, please.”
But no man came out. Ugh. My heart thrummed like a bass line at a night club. Given the cry for help stitched into the blanket, this man could be dangerous. I yanked my nightstick from my belt and flicked my wrist. The telescoping baton extended with a sharp snap! Having twirled a baton with my high school’s marching band, I felt much more comfortable with this particular weapon than I did with my gun.
“I’m going to count to three,” I warned the man, “and if you haven’t come out I’m sending my dog in.” I took a deep breath. “One.” No movement or sound came. “Two.” Still no movement. Damn it!
Next to me, Brigit shook like a paint mixer, ready to launch herself after our target. Still, as handy as Brigit’s special skills could be and as much as she enjoyed her work, I didn’t like sending her into dangerous situations armed only with her teeth.
“Three.” My voice sounded more like a plea than a demand at this point.
Still nothing.
I had no choice. I issued the order for Brigit to flush out the man behind the Dumpster.
Brigit took off around the big metal bin, her claws scrambling on the asphalt. The next thing I knew, something came tearing around the other side of the Dumpster, coming straight at me. But it wasn’t a man. Instead, it was a furry beast that was all fangs and fur and dark rings.
“Aaah!” I cried out in surprise and instinctively jumped back as the enormous raccoon shot past me, followed by my partner. “Brigit!” I hollered as she bolted after the beast. “Get back here!”
She chased the varmint a few more feet, then made a U-turn and headed back my way. She sat at my feet, wagging her tail, her mouth hanging open as she panted gleefully.
I closed my baton, returned it to my belt, and shook my finger at my partner. “We are not out here to police the raccoon population!”
The woof she offered in reply told me she disagreed entirely.
My partner and I continued on, eventually making our way back to the fire station. Seth and Blast waited for us out front, their foreheads furrowed in worry.
Seth held the blanket in his hands, his shoulders slumping when he spotted me and Brigit without the man in tow. “Didn’t find him?”
“No luck. He’s already left the area.”
Headlights swept across us as Detective Jackson turned into the parking lot. She was out of her car in a heartbeat, gesturing to the blanket in Seth’s hands. “That the blanket you told me about?”
“Yes.” I took it from Seth and found the message on the trim. “See? Right here. ‘Help!’”
She held it up to the light and took a look. “That’s what it says, all right. But maybe it’s just referring to the baby.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think whoever sewed that was referring to herself.”
“What makes you think that?” Jackson asked.
Good question. A tough one, too, because I didn’t really have a good answer. “Instinct?” I said with a shrug. “Plus it doesn’t seem to me that the mother would ask for help for the baby if the mother knew the baby was going to be taken to a fire station. The mother would know her baby would get help.”
Jackson cocked her head. “You’ve assumed the mother was the one who sewed the word into the blanket. Why?”
I gestured to the quilt. “Look at it. It’s beautiful. The hand-quilting would have taken a long time. It was a labor of love. Whoever made it must have loved the baby very much.”
Jackson stared at the fabric, as if willing it to speak to her, to tell her its secrets.
“See this, too?” I asked, pointing at the additional stitching after the word. “I think it might be a clue of some sort. It looks kind of like a peace sign.”
“Hmm.” She squinted. “Maybe. Hard to say with the thread hanging loose.” She lowered the blanket, glanced around, and pointed to the security camera mounted over the bay, directing her next question to Seth. “Any chance you can show us the footage from the camera?”
“The captain can.” Seth motioned for us to follow him.
We went into the building and made our way back to the captain’s office. The balding man was at his desk working on his computer, the light from the screen reflecting off his forehead. He glanced up as we stepped into the doorway.
Seth made quick introductions. “Captain Nelson, this is Detective Audrey Jackson from the Fort Worth PD.”
The man stood and extended his arm across his desk to shake hands with the detective.
Jackson got right down to business. “We have some concerns about the baby that was left here. Can you show us the footage from the camera out front? I want to see the man who brought her in.”
“Of course.” He pulled up a chair for the detective and sat back down in his. Seth and I took up spots on either side of them. Brigit and Blast plopped down on the carpet, engaging in a playful tussle.
It took a couple of minutes for the captain to log into the security system, pinpoint the proper camera feed, and drag the timer back to an hour prior. “Here we go.” He clicked his mouse to start the footage.
The screen showed the dim front parking lot, the image ending just past the curb. For a minute or two, the only thing we saw was an occasional elongated human shadow cast by a firefighter working in the lit bay behind the camera. Then a man emerged from the darkness at the edge of the screen. He wore jeans, work boots, and a dark zippered jacket. He had a ball cap on his head and a baby held awkwardly in his arms. The cap cast the upper part of his face in shadow, making it impossible to discern his features. What I could see of his chin and jawline appeared fuzzy. It wasn’t clear to me whether the fuzziness was his facial hair or whether it was a result of the poor-quality video.
He stopped a dozen feet from the camera and shifted the baby in his arms. As he moved her, the edge of the blanket caught on the zipper of his jacket. He tugged it free. Is that how the thread ended up hanging loose?
The man’s mouth opened as if he were calling out to someone inside the bay. A few seconds later, Seth appeared, his back to the camera. He walked up to the man. Though we couldn’t see Seth’s face, it was clear he’d asked the man a question because the man paused for a second before speaking again.
The detective cast a glance at Seth. “What did you ask the guy?”
“If the baby was his.”
“And?”
“He said it was.”
As she turned back to the screen, the image showed Seth pulling a radio from his belt and speaking into it. A moment later, Douglas Harrison appeared. While the man continued to hold the baby, Harrison loosened the blanket and pulled up the baby’s gown, evidently searching for signs of abuse. He, too, said something to the man.
Anticipating the detective’s next question, Seth said, “Harrison asked the guy whether he wanted to provide any family medical history.
He said ‘no.’ That was it.”
We continued to watch. When Harrison offered a nod, the man turned and retreated at a brisk pace. Seth and Harrison disappeared from the camera feed as they went into the station.
“As soon as we went inside,” Seth told Jackson, “I called Megan.”
“Then I called you,” I told her.
“And here we are.” The detective was silent a few beats before speaking again. “Did the guy say anything about the baby’s mother?”
Seth shook his head. “Not a word.”
“It was hard to tell much about him from the footage. What did he look like?”
Seth shut his eyes for a moment, as if to better visualize the man, before opening them again. “He had a light beard, maybe a week’s growth. Short hair. Couldn’t really see his eyes well because of the hat.”
The detective and I looked to Harrison, who confirmed Seth’s description with a dip of his head.
“Any scars?” I asked. “Moles? Birthmarks?”
“Not that I noticed,” Seth said.
“I didn’t see any, either,” Harrison added.
“What about piercings? Tattoos? Missing teeth?”
Seth raised his palms. “If he had any of those things they didn’t catch my eye. My focus was mostly on the baby.”
“Mine, too.” Harrison lifted his shoulders, indicating he hadn’t noticed any piercings, tattoos, or missing teeth, either. With no discernible features, the man who’d left the baby would be difficult to firmly identify, especially if he shaved off the beard.
Jackson and I exchanged glances. Her tight face looked as pensive as I felt. What now? She gestured to Brigit. “Show me where she took you.”
The detective followed as, once again, Brigit and I retraced the steps taken by the man who’d left the baby. The raccoon watched us from the roof of the deli as we made our way down the alley.
When we reached the demolished convenience store, Jackson looked around. “See anything? Maybe some trash left behind? A discarded cigarette butt?”
We turned on our flashlights and slowly scanned the area, but all we saw was dust and gravel.
“I’ve got nothing,” I told her.
“Me, neither.”
As we returned to the station, I opened my notebook and tore out the page listing the sites with security cameras. I handed it to the detective, and pointed them out along the way.
When we reached the parking lot of the fire station, we stopped by our cars. Despite the urgency of the situation, we had nothing to go on at the moment. No car for units to watch out for. No fugitive on foot. No ID on the man, so no home or workplace to visit. My gut twisted in frustration.
“I’ll make some calls,” Jackson said, “see about taking a look at the security footage on the dentist’s office, the dialysis clinic, and the doughnut shop.” She thumbed her key fob to open her trunk, retrieved a large evidence bag, and slid the blanket inside for safekeeping. “I’ll be in touch if we find anything out. In the meantime, why don’t you give the caseworker a call. Tell her not to move forward with any adoption plans until we sort this out.”
I lifted my chin in acknowledgment and stepped back to allow her to climb into her car. She cranked the engine and backed out, raising a quick hand in good-bye.
As the detective’s cruiser turned out of the lot, Seth stepped out of the bay and came over to stand in front of me. “What a night, huh?”
“You can say that again.” I bit my lower lip as my gut twisted even tighter in fear. “You think the baby’s mother is okay?”
“I don’t know, Megan.” Seth took a step closer, wrapping his arms around me. He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “But I know you’ll do everything you can to find out.”
He knows me well.
Seth gave me a squeeze, brushed his lips against my temple, and backed away.
I opened the back door of the cruiser and signaled for Brigit to get into the car. Once she’d hopped up to her platform, I rounded the car and climbed into my seat. I pulled the caseworker’s business card out of my pocket and dialed her number.
“Hi,” I said when she answered. “It’s Officer Megan Luz.” Through the phone came the sound of an infant crying in the background. “Is the baby okay?”
“She’s fine,” the woman said. “Not happy about getting her shot and having drops put in her eyes is all.”
“Can’t say that I blame her.” Poor little thing. “Detective Jackson asked me to give you a call. She’s taken a look at the blanket, too, and we’ve watched the security-camera video of when the baby was dropped at the station. We have some questions that need to be answered before the baby can be released for adoption. The detective said to let you know so you could put things on hold for now.”
“Okay,” the woman said. “I’ve got a wonderful couple looking to adopt who would be willing to foster her in the meantime. I’ll place her in their home. That way, if she becomes available, she can stay with them.”
“Sounds great.” The more stability the baby had in her early life, the better.
We ended the call and I slid my phone into the cup holder for safekeeping. As I exited the lot, dispatch came over the radio. “Got a call from a resident of Fairmount. Someone smashed the window of his car.” She rattled off an address on west Jefferson Avenue.
Glad for the distraction, I grabbed the mic. “Officers Luz and Brigit responding.”
My foot punched the gas and, a couple minutes later, applied the brake as we approached the victim’s house. A fortyish couple stood in their driveway next to their shiny black Lexus. Broken glass littered the concrete at their feet, reflecting the moonlight like a disco ball. All that remained of the passenger window was a few shards sticking up from the door.
I unrolled the windows on the cruiser so Brigit could get some air, but left her in the car for now. No sense risking her cutting her paw. I climbed out, stepped over, and introduced myself, extending my hand. “I’m Officer Megan Luz. Can you tell me what happened?”
“We were fast asleep only a few minutes ago,” the woman said, “when the car alarm went off.” She hiked a thumb at her husband. “He came out to take a look and found the window smashed.”
In cases like this, there were generally three possible explanations for the crime. One, the smashed window could be personal, a vendetta, someone settling a score. Two, the crime could be nothing more than vandalism, a disaffected youth taking out his frustration at the world on an innocent car. Or three, it could be thieves looking for electronics or drugs or gas station credit cards, the types of things people tend to leave in their cars even though common sense tells them they shouldn’t. “Is anything missing from the vehicle?” I asked, hoping to rule out one or more of the possibilities.
“My work laptop,” the man said.
Bingo. I wasn’t surprised it was a theft. Burglaries are a beat cop’s bread and butter.
“My Steve Nash bobble-head is gone, too,” the man said. “It was on my dash. I got it back when he played for the Mavericks. It’s a collector’s item now.”
Though I wasn’t a huge sports fan, during my childhood my father and brothers had watched plenty of games on TV, including basketball. I remembered Steve Nash from years ago. He wore the number 13 jersey, defying superstition and playing like a superstar alongside Dirk Nowitzki. Nash’s longish hair seemed to be perpetually wet with sweat.
I took out my flashlight and shined it into the car. The seat, dash, and floorboard were covered with broken glass. A few shards had made it to the driver’s seat as well. I shined the light on the visors. No remote control was clipped there. I saw none on the console, either.
I stepped back and returned my attention to the couple. “Do you have a remote for the garage door?”
“Yeah,” the man said. “We keep it in the glove box.”
Lest I disturb any fingerprints, I slid my right hand into a latex glove, opened the car door, and reached inside to unlatch the glove box. Inside was an owner
’s manual, the usual insurance and registration paperwork, and a shiny metal tire gauge. Nothing else.
The man peeked in over my shoulder. “The remote’s gone, too? Hell!”
“Did you see anyone out here?”
“No,” he replied. “I looked up and down the street but there was no one in sight. I turned off the alarm and called 911 from my cell phone.” His brows rose in hope. “Do you think you’ll be able to find out who took my computer and get it back?”
Honestly? The odds of recovering the laptop were slim to none. This was one of those cases where an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, but this guy would learn that lesson the hard way. Still, I wouldn’t throw in the towel before making an honest effort. I closed the door and stepped back. “I’ll get my partner. See if she can find a trail to follow.”
Returning to my squad car, I opened the back and let Brigit out, clipping her lead to her collar. The broken glass extended out three feet or so. I took her as close to the car as I dared without risking injury to her paws, and issued the command for her to find and track the trail of the thief. She put her nose down and began to snuffle about. A few seconds later, she set off down the driveway.
“We’ll be back!” I called over my shoulder as we went.
Brigit led me down to the sidewalk and turned, snuffling her way, pulled along by the scent. For the second time that night, I jogged along behind her. I’m definitely getting my steps in today. Unfortunately, our efforts yielded the same result as earlier. A dead end. Brigit stopped a couple of streets over, snuffled in a broad circle and sat down, indicating this is where the trail ended. The thief must have climbed into a car here and taken off.
Again, we retraced our steps. My eyes scanned the surroundings for security cameras. This time, I saw none. Darn.
Brigit and I returned to the house, where I showed my gratitude by giving her another liver treat and another “Good girl!”
The couple turned anxious eyes on me.
